


Kismet

by cassie_black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hd_glompfest, Fluff, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Hedwig Lives, Jealous Draco Malfoy, M/M, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Harry, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:39:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/pseuds/cassie_black
Summary: Draco's got parent problems and Harry's got the house guest from hell. But the real problem, as their exasperated friends know only too well, is that they've both got it bad!





	Kismet

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic I wrote way back when but never got around to uploading here!!

**Title:** Kismet  
**Rating:** R  
**Word Count:** ~16,300  
**Pairing(s):** Harry/Draco (Background Ron/Pansy  & Hermione/Theo)  
**Summary:** Draco's got parent problems and Harry's got the house guest from hell. But the real problem, as their exasperated friends know only too well, is that they've both _got it bad!_  
**Warning(s):** None  
**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**A/N:** Thank you, for a prompt that was such fun to work with (and that lured me in despite my protestations of _not signing up for any more damn fests_!!) I had the outline of this story in my head from the moment I saw your sign up and it wouldn't let me rest!! I've tried to get in as many of your requests as possible – it's possibly not quite as porny as you requested, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless! Consider yourself glomped ♥  
Beta'd, as ever, by the lovely  
P.S. This fic is DH compliant with the exception of one teensy weensy little minor character death that I have chosen to ignore. Artistic licence and all that *g*

 

"Potter!"

Harry rolled his eyes; the word dripped from Snape's tongue with as much disdain as they ever had. "Sir," he replied, as respectfully as possible.

The fierceness of Snape's glare had lessened none either, it seemed. "Explain," he barked out.

"You're a portrait, sir."

"I ascertained that much for myself; the lack of a pulse was something of a clue. What I want to know is where I am and what _you_ are doing here?"

Harry took a deep breath and tried to suppress the smile he just knew his old teacher would not appreciate. "This is my home."

"Felt an overwhelming urge to have me hanging on your wall, did you?"

Harry leant against the wall opposite, his arms crossed defensively. "It was the right thing to do," he replied, a determined tilt to his chin.

"The right thing," Snape repeated, his dark eyes darting around the edges of his frame. "Where am I _exactly_?"

Harry was surprised that Snape hadn't recognised his surroundings by now, but he supposed the different perspective and the absence of house-elf heads made all the difference. "You're at Headquarters, sir; Grimmauld Place."

Snape's usually narrowed eyes widened at this piece of information. "If you've hung me next to that rabid woman, I'll...Portrait or not, I _will_ make you suffer."

Harry allowed the smile to cross his face now. "Mrs Black's long gone."

"You found the counter charm?"

Harry shook his head. "Sledgehammer," he explained with a grin. "You're covering up the missing plaster until I get around to redoing it."

Snape ran a hand distractedly through his hair, which, Harry noticed, didn't look either as lank or as greasy as it had in real life. "Potter, why on earth—"

"Harry! You home?"

"In the hallway," Harry replied, enjoying the look of surprise on his old professor's face.

There was the sound of scuffed footsteps and the living room door banged open to reveal Draco Malfoy. "Has it arrived?" he asked eagerly. "Is he here?"

Harry nodded in the direction of the portrait at the same time as its occupant released a whispered, "Draco."

Draco stepped forward, his eyes filled with a visible excitement that reminded Harry of a child on Christmas morning. "Severus," he said softly, voice full of awe.

"Mr Malfoy, perhaps you'd be as good as to explain to me what's going on here."

"You haven't told him?" Draco turned to Harry, a slight frown on his face.

Harry shrugged. "Haven't had time. I'd only just activated the portrait before you got here."

Draco nodded faintly and then turned his attention back to the painting, shifting uneasily. "Well, you see...the thing is..."

"For Merlin's sake, spit it out before I die a second time."

Harry could see the reluctance on Draco's face and took pity on him. "The Board of Governors refuses to have your portrait hung in the Head's office at Hogwarts; some rubbish about you abandoning your post."

"Harry's working on it, though," Draco added.

" _Harry_?" Snape repeated, looking between the two of them in confusion. "How long have I been dead?" 

"Almost four years," Draco admitted reluctantly. 

Snape slumped back into the chair thoughtfully provided by the artist. "That long," he murmured. 

A moment's silence followed. Snape appeared lost in his own thoughts, and as Harry and Draco looked at each other uncertainly, it was clear neither of them wanted to disturb him.

"Where have I been?" Snape asked finally. "If I've not been at Hogwarts, and I've only just arrived here, where have I been?"

"In a vault at Gringotts," Harry explained. "Draco found you by accident last month."

"Draco did? I thought breaking into Gringotts' vaults was more your style, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes; apparently death hadn't mellowed Snape at all.

"I work there," Draco explained when it became apparent Harry had no intention of replying.

"A Malfoy working for the Goblins," Snape mused slowly. "I imagine your father is not thrilled with that prospect."

"He wasn't at first," Draco admitted with a shrug. "But Father has become surprisingly pragmatic of late."

"Times have certainly changed then." Snape paused and stared thoughtfully. "And you and Potter? Are you going to tell me you're—?"

"We're friends," Draco replied quickly.

Harry shifted uncomfortably under his old professor's scrutiny and was relieved when he turned his attention back to Draco. "Friends," Snape repeated with a shake of his head. "What is the world coming to?"

~*~*~

"Remind me again whose bloody idea this was?" Harry slumped back in his chair, rubbing tiredly at his eyes and knocking his glasses crooked in the process.

Draco grinned. "Poor baby," he soothed, as he leant over and settled Harry's glasses back on his nose. "Is the big, bad portrait picking on you?"

Harry glared. "I'm glad my misery amuses you."

"Come on, Potter. He's a portrait; how bad can it be?" Pansy gazed at him coolly from over the top of her glass.

"That's easy for you to say, Parkinson. It's not your house he's hanging in." Harry turned to Draco, an almost pleading expression on his face. "Are you sure you can't keep him at the Manor? It won't be for long."

Draco shook his head. "Father refuses to have him in the house. He still hasn't forgiven the whole _spying_ business."

"And don't even _look_ at me," Pansy added. "My flat's barely big enough for one person. I don't need Professor Snape glowering down at every move I make."

"I doubt Severus would appreciate being witness to your night-time encounters, in any case," Draco commented.

"There's no need to be jealous," Pansy replied with obvious fake sweetness. "I'm sure this dry spell of yours won't last for much longer."

Draco glared fiercely at his best friend, but wisely allowed the subject to drop.

"So I'm stuck with him," Harry groaned.

"It would seem that way, Potter," Pansy said casually. "Look at it as an added incentive. The quicker you get him hanging in his rightful place, the sooner he'll be out of your hair." She gazed at him critically for a moment. "Which given its current state, would not be a bad thing."

"Kick a man while he's down, why don't you." Harry turned to Draco again. "Aren't you going to stick up for me?"

Draco just grinned. "Harry, if you can't handle Pansy on your own, you'll never last the week with Severus."

"Don't I know it," Harry complained. "Merlin, I need a drink." He got to his feet, empty glass in hand. "Same again?"

Draco watched Harry as he made his way to the bar, all too aware of Pansy's gaze fixed on him. "Shut up," he said firmly, before she'd even spoken.

Pansy chuckled. "You've really got it bad, haven't you?"

"Pansy, I'm warning you." Draco tore his gaze away from Harry and fixed a glare on his friend.

Pansy snorted derisively. "Please, that look hasn't worked on me since we were eight. It's hard to be scared by that scowl when I've seen it smeared with your mother's lipstick."

~*~*~

"Married?" Harry asked incredulously.

Hermione nodded in reply at exactly the same time as Ron exclaimed, "Bloody hell."

"I'll take that as your congratulations, shall I?" Hermione spoke stiffly, but Harry could see the uncertainty that lay behind it.

"Of course we're happy for you, aren't we, Ron?" Harry gave his friend a sharp kick under the table and grinned slightly as Ron tried to stifle a yelp. 

"Course we are," Ron agreed heartily, and Harry could hear his feet shuffling out of range. "We're made up for you. It's just..." 

Ron tailed off here and Harry's heart sank. He gave Ron the patented _shut up, you bloody moron_ stare he'd learned from Draco.

"Just what, Ronald?" Hermione enquired. Harry shifted his chair back just a tiny bit – there was no point getting caught in the crossfire. 

Ron, however, had grown up with two very forceful women, had dated numerous others, and wasn't fazed in the slightest. "Just that I never thought I'd see the day _you_ married a Slytherin."

"Honestly," Hermione huffed. "School's been over for years, Ron. Besides," a sly grin crossed her face, "it's no more surprising than your regular night-time encounters with Pansy Parkinson, or the way Harry ogles Malfoy's arse every time he takes off his robes."

"Hey!" Harry protested. "How did I get dragged into this?"

"Oh, come on, Harry, it's not like it's a big secret." 

"It isn't?" Harry tried his best not to choke on his coffee.

"Nah," Ron replied blithely. "We talk about it all the time."

"We?" Harry wiped his damp palms down the front of his trousers.

"Yeah. Me and Hermione, me and Pansy, I imagine Hermione and Theo." He looked to his friend for confirmation and she nodded. "In fact," Ron continued, unaware of Harry's increasing panic, "the only people who don't discuss it are you and Malfoy."

"And _why_ is that, Harry?" Hermione scrutinised him from over the top of her latte.

"Don't have a go at me," Harry muttered defensively. "You're the one marrying a Slytherin."

"Exactly," Hermione declared almost triumphantly. " _I'm_ marrying Theo, Ron has...well, whatever it is that's going on between him and Pansy." She looked briefly at Ron, who nodded contentedly before opening his mouth to speak. "There's no need for explanations," Hermione added hurriedly, before turning her attention back to Harry. "That just leaves you," she said quietly. "And Malfoy. And the two of you are still dancing around each other like you did in school, and it's driving us all crazy."

"Just shag him already, would you?" Even Ron appeared to be surprised at the words that came out of his mouth. 

"Can we change the subject please?" Harry asked sharply, his face flushed. Just because they were in a Muggle cafe, didn't mean he wanted people overhearing things like that.

Hermione shot Ron a reproving look before turning her attention to Harry. "How are you getting along with Professor Snape?"

Harry let out a groan which was swiftly followed by the thud of his head hitting the table.

"Nice job, Hermione," Ron crowed.

Hermione chose to ignore this. She tentatively placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "That bad?"

Harry slowly raised his head off the table and shook it slightly. "I'm probably exaggerating," he admitted. "I think it's just because I'd forgotten how..."

"Much of an arse the man is?" Ron suggested.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, something like that. He drives me crazy with his snide little comments on everything I do, but then I remember how he died and I feel like a complete git. I mean, he's stuck in that picture forever, now."

"Harry, you do know that's not _actually_ Professor Snape? It's just—"

"I know, I know." Harry rubbed tiredly at his face. "But you try having him in your house and then tell me the same thing. It's like being back in Potions."

Ron gave a mock shudder. "We'll have Friday night drinks round at my place this week, then?"

Harry nodded eagerly. He was only too grateful for any opportunity to escape his current house-guest. "You're on."

Hermione gave a discreet cough. 

"Blimey," Ron exclaimed. "As if all this talk of Snape isn't bad enough, you have to start in with your Umbridge impressions."

"Very funny." Hermione's tone clearly belied her words. "I was simply going to point out that rest of your Friday night group were rather hoping to catch up with their old Professor, so moving locations probably isn't the best idea."

"Who?" Ron demanded, sounding almost betrayed at the prospect.

"Theo," Hermione replied calmly, "and Draco, too. Plus, we're expecting Blaise for a visit later this week, and I'm sure he'd love the chance as well."

Harry's heart sank, and he was just about to bemoan his fate when a waitress wandered over to clear their table. He decided it probably wasn't the best time to start complaining about magical portraits of dead people that spoke and acted just as unpleasantly as they had when they were alive.

"Zabini's crawling back out from under his rock then," Ron commented, flashing a bright grin at the waitress as she took his plate. "What's that in aid of?"

"He's been in Italy, Ron, not under a rock."

"He's been in bloody hiding," Ron replied darkly. "Has been ever since the war. At least Malfoy and the others had the balls to stick around."

Harry turned to his best friend in surprise. "Careful, that sounded almost like a compliment. Draco will be impressed."

"Yeah, well, some of them aren't so bad. I mean, Theo's all right, if you like the bookish sort." He let out a yelp and shifted suddenly. "Ow!" He glared at Hermione. "What was that for? I was being nice."

" _If you like the bookish sort?"_ Hermione repeated, eyes narrowed warningly. 

"Yeah, what's wrong with that? Obviously we do, since we're friends with you."

Harry laughed. He couldn't help it. Not even the dual glares of indignance and confusion his best friends sent him could hold back his mirth. His laughter was infectious, it seemed, and before long, the small cafe echoed with the sound of their combined amusement.

"Oh, I needed that," Harry gasped finally, wiping his watery eyes. "Don't ever change, you two."

Hermione smiled warmly. "I'll do my best."

Ron grinned. "Couldn't even if I wanted to."

"Good." Harry leant back in his chair and stretched. "Either of you want anything else?" He nodded towards the counter. 

Hermione glanced at the slender gold watch on her wrist. "I have to go," she admitted reluctantly. "We have an appointment with a wedding planner this afternoon."

Harry nodded and bit back the temptation to tease. "Ron?"

"Afternoon off," Ron replied simply. "Maybe we could move it to the Leaky, though?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," Harry agreed. He pushed his chair back from the table and got to his feet.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly. Can't you two make it through a day without a trip to the pub?"

Harry and Ron shared a grin. "No," they replied in unison.

Hermione shook her head, but her expression was affectionate. She folded her jacket neatly over her arm and picked up her bag. "Come on then. Don't let me keep you from an afternoon of boozing any longer." 

She led the way out of the cafe and the other two followed. 

"So, Zabini, eh?" Ron commented casually once they were outside.

Harry frowned slightly. "What about him?"

"Well, isn't he...you know..." Ron nodded meaningfully, his eyes wide.

Harry smiled faintly. "No, I don't _you know_."

"What Ron is delicately trying, and failing to say, is that Blaise is gay."

"Oh, I see," Harry murmured. Then he turned to look at his best friend and saw the broad grin on his face. "Oh, I _see_ ," he repeated, understanding dawning on his face.

Ron gave him a slap on the shoulder. "It's time for you to get back out there, mate," he said. "It's been over a year since you and Justin broke up, and obviously you and Malfoy are happy swimming in your Egyptian river."

" _Egyptian river_?" Hermione mouthed in confusion.

"The Nile," Harry clarified. "I knew you getting that TV was a bad idea."

" _De_ Nile," Ron corrected, before continuing. "So maybe Zabini's visit is the perfect opportunity to, you know..."

"You don't even like him, Ron," Harry replied.

"I'm not suggesting you marry the bloke, for Merlin's sake. He's here for a few weeks, so maybe you go out a couple of times, have a bit of fun, a few drinks, and then..." 

"What are you, my pimp?" Harry asked incredulously. "Are you seriously suggesting that I shag Blaise Zabini?"

Ron shrugged. "It's just a suggestion. He's single, you're single. You're both not bad-looking blokes, and you're both—"

"Gay?"

"Exactly." Ron nodded.

Harry laughed outright this time. "Should I be concerned about your level of interest in my sex life?"

"You don't have one," Ron replied. "Which is exactly my point."

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione said, the exasperation clear in her tone. "Just because they're both gay doesn't mean they're automatically attracted to each other. Besides," Hermione paused here as she glanced at the sky and slipped her Mac on, "according to Theo, Blaise always had a thing for Draco."

~*~*~

Draco was running late. He glanced discreetly at his watch again and mentally cursed the elderly wizard whose dithering over his investment portfolio was making him late for his regular lunch date with Harry.

In truth, Draco didn't need to work. The Malfoy coffers had made it through the war very much unscathed, and even during Lucius's incarceration, Narcissa had managed the family funds with startling aplomb. The fact was Draco enjoyed his work. Yes, initially he'd balked at the idea of gainful employment, but the drive to rebuild the family name had motivated him. His choices had been limited – with the Ministry being completely out of the question. But while few would trust a Malfoy with power, many it turned out, would trust him with money.

He'd been in his job scant months before the Goblins realised his potential. It was then a quick promotional ladder that found Draco employed as Gringotts’ first personal Accounts Manager. Usually it was a job he thoroughly enjoyed, however, on days like today, he would gladly swap it all for the lifestyle of idle aristocracy he'd planned on as a youngster.

"Maybe you should take some time to think about it, Mr Worthington. Go home; discuss it with your wife and son. We want you to feel comfortable with your decision."

The elderly gentleman smiled at Draco, a look of gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you, Mr Malfoy. I'll do just that."

Draco marvelled at his own behaviour. Although he always acted in the best interests of his clients, he was usually ruthless when persuading them to sign on to an investment that he believed was worthwhile. The commission alone was enough to keep him in fine wine and fancy new robes; his wages went, untouched, straight into his personal vault.

Several handshakes later and Mr Worthington was on his way home. Draco, on the other hand, was on a mission. A quick glance at his watch told him he had bare seconds remaining before he was due to meet Harry. And though it was only a short trip across Diagon Alley from Gringotts to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, Draco wanted to stop in at his favourite delicatessen and grab some food. Their crab tortellini was to die for, and Draco knew just how much Harry loved it.

Fortunately his lateness meant that the lunchtime queue at _Lucia's_ was gone. He smiled winningly at the grey-haired witch behind the counter, placed his order, and then breathed a sigh of relief when his favourite dish was forthcoming. Quickly, he grabbed to containers off the counter, feeling the heat of the well-placed Warming Charm, and passed several coins over.

He barely had time to mutter a "thank you" before speeding out of the door, and hurrying the few short feet to his final destination.

The tinkling of the shop doorbell eased the tightness in Draco's chest, and the sight of Harry waiting for him did the rest. 

Harry looked up from the till, a warm smile on his face. "I thought you'd stood me up."

Draco shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. "I didn't get a better offer." Out of the corner of his eye, Draco spotted George Weasley hovering at the back of the shop, grinning knowingly at him. When a cheeky wink was sent his way, Draco waited until Harry's back was turned and then smartly saluted George with his middle finger.

"I thought we could eat in the Gardens," Draco suggested as Harry shrugged off his work robes. "It's lovely outside; it'd be a shame to sit indoors."

Harry nodded his agreement. "Okay, sounds good to me." He paused here and gave an exaggerated sniff. "You've been to _Lucia's,_ " he accused.

Draco nodded. "Guilty," he confirmed. "Don't worry, I picked you up some as well." He was rewarded for his troubles by a beatific smile.

George chuckled in the background. "You'll make someone a wonderful wife one day, Malfoy."

Before Draco could respond in kind, Harry took hold of his arm and tugged him towards the door. "Ignore him," he said. "Luna banished him to the sofa last night, so he's taking it out on everyone today."

~*~*~

The garden that Draco had suggested was a large grassy area situated at the far end of the Alley, just before the new wizarding development on Origin Alley. There were riotous flowerbeds, manicured lawns, an ornate fountain, and a large dark granite slab that bore the name of every victim of both wizarding wars.

It had taken some time before Draco had dared to set foot in the place. Not because he expected to be struck down, but simply because he didn't feel he had the right to be in such a place of remembrance. It had been Harry who persuaded him otherwise, who marched Draco there one lunchtime, refusing to take no for an answer. Now it was a favourite spot of his, and Draco could regularly be found in company, or alone, on one of the garden's convenient benches, book in hand or lost in thought.

As he and Harry strode towards their usual spot they passed Neville Longbottom, who, Draco had been surprised to find, was responsible for tending the plants.

"Hey, Nev," Harry greeted warmly.

Neville looked up from the bed he was currently weeding and raised a hand to them in acknowledgement. Draco nodded in reply.

"You'll be round tomorrow night, won't you?" Harry asked as they walked nearer.

Neville paused in his work and looked up at them, one dirty hand shielding his eyes against the sun. "I don't know about that, Harry. I heard from Ron you have a house guest."

Harry frowned in confusion. "Huh?"

"He means the portrait, idiot," Draco explained.

Harry turned and poked his tongue out briefly before turning his attention back to Neville. "You'll be fine, mate. He's in the hallway, and we can always draw the curtains on him if needs be"

Neville relaxed visibly, and Draco couldn't help but be amazed that this boy, this man, who'd stood up to Voldemort and countless Death Eaters, was still intimidated by a Professor who'd been dead for four years. However, he managed to bite his tongue before he verbalised that thought.

"I'll see you tomorrow night, then," Neville confirmed, returning his attention to his work.

"He does realise Severus is dead, doesn't he?" Draco asked softly as they walked towards a bench.

Harry looked at him curiously. "Of course. Why wouldn't he"

Draco shrugged. "It's just odd how he's bothered by a portrait."

Harry heaved a sigh. "Draco, the man made Neville's life a misery for years; you don't forget something like that easily."

"He didn't—"

"Yes, he did," Harry said firmly, before sitting down. "Now give me my tortellini."

"How is Severus?" Draco asked as he handed over the plastic tub.

Harry grabbed it eagerly. "Fork?" he asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "In the bag." He indicated the carrier on the bench with a nod.

Harry delved quickly, producing a fork for each of them. "He's driving me crazy," he said, as he handed Draco his utensil. "Being a complete arse."

Draco cast a quick _Scourgify_ on the bench's surface before seating himself at Harry's side. "Any luck with the Board of Governors yet?"

"Funny you should ask that," Harry said, opening his tub and inhaling deeply. "Turns out I have the worst sense of timing ever. The Board don't meet during the school holidays, which means that I'm stuck with that git in my house for at least another six weeks."

Draco chewed his food thoughtfully for a moment. "Could be worse," he said finally. "You should try living at the Manor. Ever since Father was released, my parents have been acting like they're on some kind of second honeymoon."

"It can't be that bad, though, is it?"

Draco shuddered visibly. "Let's just say I've learned to knock really loudly before entering any rooms."

Harry was silent for a moment while he digested this piece of information. Draco knew the exact moment his point had been understood, because of the laughter. Harry leaned across and ruffled his hair. "Poor Draco," he soothed.

Draco squirmed and tried to escape before irreparable damage was done to his hair, and definitely did not think about how nice Harry's touch felt. "It's not funny. I could be traumatised for life."

Harry eventually got his mirth under control. "I'm sorry," he said, not looking in the least bit guilty. "You know you're welcome to stay at mine whenever you want. I've got plenty of rooms and I'd be glad of the company."

Draco swallowed a little too quickly, such was his surprise, and choked rather forcefully. After a slap on the back from Harry, Draco turned to him with a faint smile. "I might just take you up on that offer this weekend," he said. "They're always worse then. It's like someone slipped them a Love Potion."

Harry grinned for a moment and then his face froze. Draco chuckled to himself. "Not the sort of mental image you want, is it? Well it's ten times worse for me."

"Time for a change of subject, I think," Harry said carefully before digging into his lunch once again.

"Okay, what did you have in mind?" Draco produced two bottles of water from the bag and handed one over.

"Thanks." Harry unscrewed his bottle and took a deep swig. "I hear Zabini's coming home for a visit," he said finally. "You must be looking forward to that."

"I suppose," Draco replied noncommittally.

Harry looked puzzled. "But I thought you two were...you know?"

Draco shook his head. "Hardly. We kissed a few times in sixth year, then he left, and I've seen him a handful of times since."

"So you're not planning to pick up where you left off then?"

Draco tried his hardest to ignore the niggling worry that took hold, tried not to think about _why_ Harry was so interested in Blaise's return, and Draco's plans for him. "No," he said firmly. "Blaise is a little too narcissistic for my liking."

Harry coughed twice. It sounded suspiciously like, "Pot. Kettle." Draco gave him a sharp dig with his elbow.

"Oi! Bony git," Harry complained, rubbing at his arm.

"I am _not_ bony," Draco huffed. "I'm slender."

"Delicate, you mean?" Harry teased, grinning broadly.

"I have fine bone structure. I wouldn't expect someone like you to appreciate it." With that, Draco leant forward and speared the last piece of Harry's tortellini with his fork. Popping it into his mouth, he sat back in his seat, a smug grin on his face.

"Git." Harry pouted just a little, and Draco had to avert his eyes rather quickly; that fleshy bottom lip was doing strange things to his mind.

~*~*~

Harry sat at his kitchen table, an expression of pure contentment on his face. He had his feet propped up on the chair opposite, and a cold bottle of lager in his hand. The silence was bliss.

From the moment he had arrived home from work, Snape had been driving Harry crazy. Obviously he got bored in the house alone during the day, with only Kreacher for company, so Snape was making up for lost time. The relentless digs, snide remarks, and constant demands for information were more than Harry could stand. Were it not for the fact he knew Draco would never forgive him, he would have moved the portrait to the attic in a heartbeat.

When Snape finally descended into slurs about the Marauders, a topic he freely admitting using because of the reaction it got, Harry gave a quick wave of his wand and the red velvet curtains shut instantly. The Silencing Charm woven into the fabric worked a treat, and from that moment Harry was able to relax in the peace and quiet of his own home.

The chime of the kitchen Floo sounded, heralding the arrival of a visitor. Harry sat up slightly and watched the fireplace expectantly; very few people were keyed into that particular Floo, so he had a pretty good idea of who it was.

The flames burned a brighter shade of green, spitting sparks into the room – not for the first time, Harry made a mental note to get his Floo professionally cleaned. Then Draco emerged, just as Harry had known he would, clutching several carrier bags. 

"I brought some supplies," he said, stepping into the room and dumping the bags on the table. He looked at Harry, one eyebrow raised. "Rushed off your feet, Potter?"

Harry grinned. "Absolutely. But now you're here I can relax a little."

Draco smiled in return and Harry couldn't help the feeling of warmth that rose in his chest at that smile. He loved Friday nights, when all his friends came round for a beer, to chat, to just generally catch up now that their busy lives keep them apart more. But this is the part of the evening he cherishes most. That first hour when Draco arrives far earlier than anyone else, always bearing an offering of sorts, and rolls up his sleeves to help. Harry tries not to read too much into it, really he does, but sometimes it's incredibly hard. 

As if on cue, Draco asked, "Right, what can I do to help?"

Harry put down his drink and got to his feet. Casting an eye around the room, he thought out loud, "those crisps could do with chucking in a few bowls. And I suppose we'd better put some wine in the fridge for Theo."

"Wine?" Draco queried in surprise.

"Yeah." Harry nodded. "Hermione's got him on a gluten free diet, or something like that."

"Muggle nonsense," Draco muttered disparagingly, but nonetheless did as requested. As he closed the fridge door shut behind him, Draco stilled for a moment, to all appearances lost in thought.

"Harry," he said finally. "It's very quiet around here tonight."

Harry was crouched down, retrieving some beers from the pantry. "I guess so," he agreed.

"i thought you said Severus never shut up?"

"Ah, well." Harry looked decidedly guilty.

"What did you do?" Draco asked suspiciously. "If you've put him in the attic, I swear—"

"I haven't." Harry got to his feet, and ran one hand through his hair. "He's still in the hallway like always, I just...shut the curtains."

"And?" Draco stared at him through narrowed eyes.

Harry gazed down for a moment, staring at his feet as he scuffed them on the floor. "They might have a Silencing Charm built into them."

"Harry," Draco reproved, but he couldn't help the beginnings of a smile from quirking his lips; Severus would likely be spitting feathers by now. "I'll go and check on him."

~*~*~

With a flick of Draco's wand, the curtains swept back from the portrait. Snape came into view, his eyes dark and flashing, cheeks flushed with anger, and vitriol still spilling from his lips.

"Just as worthless as your father!" Snape came to a halt and blinked in surprise at the sudden light. "Ah, Draco," he said finally, "I didn't realise you were here.

"So it would seem," Draco replied evenly. "I'm starting to understand what Harry's been complaining about."

"Complaining?" Snape questioned. "I don't know what that miserable brat has to complain about. Seems to think the world owes him something."

"It does," Draco replied softly. " _We_ do."

Snape crossed his arms, scowled darkly, and refused to make eye contact. "Speak for yourself."

"He died." Draco said the words softly, as quietly as he could. He was conscious of Harry's presence in the next room, and though it was a subject they'd touched on a couple of times, Draco knew it was something that Harry would prefer to forget.

"And I'm just on a very long holiday, I suppose?"

Draco shook his head a little and wondered if his old professor had always been this difficult. As a Slytherin at Hogwarts, Severus had seemed almost godlike to him. The only adult in a school full of seeming idiots who was willing to take their part, who saw the good in them, who had faith. Draco'd never really paused and given thought to the way he treated the other houses. Truth be told, he hadn't much cared.

"He went to his death willingly. Stood in front of V-Voldemort and let him cast the Killing Curse. Would you have done that? Because I know I wouldn't have."

"I fail to see—"

"He's a good man, Severus. It took me a long time to realise it, too long, but now that I do, I'd rather he wasn’t subjected to your tantrums on a daily basis."

Snape practically gaped at this. "Tantrums? Mr Malfoy, need I remind you just who—"

"Don't make me regret not leaving you in that vault," Draco said, his voice quiet but firm.

~*~*~

Harry woke the next morning with something of a headache. The bright sunshine beating through his window felt like sharp knives at his eye lids. He could have sworn the curtains were drawn when he went to bed. He gave a weak groan and attempted to bury his face in the pillow.

A soft chuckle caught his ear. Rolling over carefully, so as not to upset the throbbing in his skull, Harry cracked one eye open slightly. Wincing against the light, he just made out the grinning form of Draco at his bedside. "Bright," he muttered, pressing one hand over his eyes.

Evidently Draco took pity on him, because the next time Harry peeked through his fingers, the room was a much more friendly hue.

"You really can't handle your drink, can you," Draco teased. "I don't know why you insist on trying to keep up with the rest of us."

"Blaise's fault," Harry replied. Every movement hurt; even talking.

"Hmm. There's another lesson you need to learn." Draco placed a steaming cup of coffee down on the bedside table. "You're lucky a sore head is all you woke up with this morning."

"Huh?" It took a moment for Harry's aching brain to process the implications of that remark. "Oh." He blushed fiercely.

"Blaise is a predator," Draco said, tone devoid of any emotion. "He's a nice enough bloke most of the time, just don't let him get you drunk."

Harry couldn't help but wonder if this was the voice of experience speaking, but he wasn't sure he was ready to handle the answer.

"Drink." Draco held out a small glass vial, and Harry grabbed onto it like a drowning man at a life raft.

Seconds after the unpleasant potion slid down his throat, Harry began to feel better. The throbbing in his head receded, and left behind just the usually sleepy morning fog. Harry reached gratefully for the cup of coffee and drank deeply. "You're an angel," he murmured finally, collapsing back onto his many pillows.

"So I'm told," Draco replied. "Now get your lazy arse out of bed. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes."

"You cooked?" Harry demanded incredulously. "Should I alert St Mungo's?"

"Don't make me spit in your food, Potter," Draco replied good-naturedly as he exited the room. Harry grinned to himself and took a moment to ponder the delight that was Draco Malfoy's arse in pyjamas.

"Five minutes." Draco's voice floated up the stairs and dragged Harry back to the present. Reluctantly he threw back the duvet and sat upright. Cupping his hands around his drink, Harry inhaled the rich aroma of freshly-brewed coffee; for that reason alone he was tempted never to let Draco leave.

By the time the cup was empty, Harry realised that he hadn't long left. He didn't really think that Draco _would_ spit in his food, but he'd be happier not to have to put it to the test. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Harry buried his feet in a pair of fluffy, red slippers, and tried his hardest not to be distracted by the tiny gold snitches zooming around on their surface.

Standing up, Harry stretched and yawned expansively. A quick glance at his alarm told him it was only 8 o'clock – far too early to be out of bed. Were it not for how cute his friend looked rumpled from sleep, Harry would seriously have to rethink the offer of a spare room he'd made to Draco.

Finally, he ambled down the stairs, only the tempting smell of bacon wafting up from the kitchen kept Harry from returning to his room and crawling back under the warmth of his duvet.

"Morning, Potter."

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and shook his head, convinced he was hearing things. He turned slowly towards the portrait. "Did you just..."

"Yes," Snape replied through gritted teeth. "I did."

"Oh." Harry raked one hand distractedly through his already dishevelled hair. " _Oh._ Well, in that case, morning, Professor."

Harry walked into the kitchen, an expression of stunned disbelief still etched on his features. Draco looked up from his spot at the stove and smiled.

"Don't make a big thing out of it. I'm sure it's killing him."

Harry dropped into the nearest vacant chair. "It's just...unexpected."

Draco flipped a golden omelette out of the pan and onto a nearby plate. He brought it over to the table and settled it in front of Harry. "Here, that should help settle your stomach."

Harry eagerly grabbed the supplied cutlery and dug in. As the first bite hit his tongue, he let out a groan of satisfaction. "You keep serving me food like this and I might just have to keep you."

There was a brief uncertain pause following these words, a pause that had Harry cursing his inability to think before he spoke, and his tendency to blush far too easily. Harry understood the hidden truth behind his words only too well, but the sudden silence caused a gnawing worry in the pit of his stomach that Draco did too.. The last thing he wanted to do when they were getting on so well was make things awkward between them.

After what seemed like an eternity to Harry, Draco let out a soft snort. "You couldn't afford me," he muttered. "And don't think that's getting you out of the washing up."

Harry let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, and was saved from having to say anything further loud pecking at the kitchen window. Turning in his chair, Harry saw a small, brown barn owl, a generic type, usually used by the post office, tapping impatiently at the glass. 

"Let him in, would you?" Harry asked, gesturing with a piece of toast in hand.

Draco muttered something about "dead slaves" but let the creature in all the same.

The owl fluttered around the room several times, before coming to land beside Harry's plate. It held out one leg and eyed Harry's food hopefully. Harry grinned.

"Hungry are you? Here." He held out a small piece of omelette, which was promptly snatched from his fingers. Checking his fingers were still intact, Harry then plucked the small scroll from the owl's leg.

"Who's it from?" Draco asked casually, pulling up a chair at the table.

"Nosey, aren't you?" Harry teased, looking up from the parchment.

"Just making polite conversation," Draco replied, holding out a piece of bacon to grateful bird.

Harry grinned again. Draco always maintained he wasn't an animal lover, but creatures of all shapes and sizes seemed to just adore him. And though Draco would never admit it, Harry suspected the reverse was true also.

"It's from Blaise," he admitted finally. "Just saying thank you for last night."

Draco huffed disbelievingly.

"What?" Harry asked. "You think there's more to it?"

"It's from Blaise," Draco replied sharply. "Of course there's more to it."

Harry looked back down at the letter again and then shrugged. "Well, even if there is, I'm a big boy and I can take care of myself."

~*~*~

"I'd forgotten just how annoying he could be."

"Are we still talking about Blaise?" Pansy asked. "You're becoming obsessed."

Draco scowled. "I thought you were on my side?"

Pansy flicked through the rail of clothing in front of her. "And I thought _you_ were supposed to be helping me find an outfit for Sunday."

"Ah, yes, lunch with the Weasels. I still can't believe you're going to that. What ever happened to 'It's just sex'?"

"Things change," Pansy replied with a shrug, selecting a hanger off the rail.

"That they do," Draco agreed. "But not that much," he added, slapping her hand. "Put that one back."

Pansy looked at him in surprise, but nonetheless placed the dress back. 

"Do you want your calves to look fat," was all Draco said by way of explanation, before selecting a different outfit and placing it in her hand. "Try that one."

As they headed towards the changing rooms, arms piled with clothing, Draco resumed his earlier topic. "Why is he even here anyway?"

"Because of the engagement, I think," Pansy replied, slipping into a cubicle and drawing the curtain behind her. "Theo invited him."

"You mean he's stopping until the wedding?" Draco intentionally spoke a little louder so Pansy could still hear him, but even he winced at just how shrill his voice sounded then.

Pansy chuckled throatily. "No, don't be silly. Just till the engagement party."

"But that's over two weeks away." Draco suddenly felt like stamping his feet.

"I don't see what the problem is?" Pansy whisked back the curtain and stepped outside in the first of the chosen outfits. "I thought you and Blaise used to be close."

Draco just shrugged dismissively and intentionally missed the hidden meaning in both Pansy's words and her tone. "Blaise is a self-centred, self-involved, manipulative, narcissistic tosser. And he uses people, too."

"And?" 

"What d'you mean _and_? Isn't that enough?"

"Draco, that description could fit just about every ex-Slytherin we know. What's Blaise _actually_ done to piss you off."

Draco wasn't quite ready to admit Blaise's crime to himself, much less to anyone else. So he attempted to distract Pansy instead. "You know," he said casually, "that dress makes you look a little pregnant. How appropriate for lunch with the most fertile family in Britain."

Pansy didn't respond to his ploy, and Draco could practically see the cogs turning in her head. "There's only one thing ever gets you this worked up," she said finally. "Blaise tried it on with Potter."

"What?" Draco demanded furiously. "When?" His hand automatically slid to his wand.

"Relax, Draco," Pansy replied soothingly, as she slid back into the changing room. "I was just guessing at what was bothering you. Of course," she continued, pulling the curtain into place, "it was nice to have you confirm it for me. You're so cute when you get all protective."

"He'll just use him and then dump him. You know that," Draco said softly, wisely choosing not to respond to the 'cute' remark.

Pansy reappeared wearing her own clothes again. She saw the look of surprise on Draco's face and explained, "I'm getting this one. No point trying on the others; I'll just end up buying more than I need." She picked all the other outfits up before turning back to him with a sympathetic expression on her face. "Harry's not stupid, Draco. He'll see through Blaise in a heartbeat."

"I don't think so." Draco reached out and took the pile of clothing off her. "He's too quick to see the good in everyone. I mean, this is a man who has Professor Snape hanging on his wall because it's the _right thing to do_ , despite everything that happened between them."

"I don't know what else to tell you," Pansy said, coming to a halt as they reached the till. "You know the best way to avoid it happening, but you're not willing to do it."

Draco waited silently while Pansy paid for her purchases. He knew she was right. He could end all this uncertainty now by just talking to Harry. But the barest thought of doing that made his chest clench painfully, and his breath come quick, and that was even before he tried working out what the hell he could possibly say.

"Where to now?" he asked finally when Pansy was done paying.

"Underwear," she replied, with a brief nod to the far side of the shop. "I need new underwear."

A few short minutes in the ladies lingerie department, and Draco couldn't have been happier that he was gay. The sheer volume of the selection just boggled his mind. Different colours, styles, fabrics – he wouldn't have had the first clue where to begin. Pansy, on the other hand, did.

"I don't think you need to be wearing that to meet the Weasleys for the first time," Draco remarked as Pansy picked up the scantiest piece of black lace he'd ever seen.

Pansy just leered in return. "Oh no," she replied, "This isn't for Sunday, it's for tonight."

Draco stepped back, a look of complete horror on his face. "Please tell me I'm not helping you chose underwear to shag the Weasel in?" Then, before Pansy has chance to answer, his expression quickly changes to one of confusion. "Hang on, does that mean that Weasley isn't eating over at Theo's tonight?"

Pansy plucked the matching bra off the rack and frowned at him. "No. Why on earth would he be?"

"Well, Harry's going. And at first I thought it was a bit odd that they didn't invite me, but then I just assumed it was Granger wanting some _Golden Trio_ reunion."

"Blaise," Pansy replied simply. "He's staying at their house after all."

Draco paled visibly at this. "It makes sense," he murmured, all the while trying to swallow the bile rising in his throat. Visions of Harry and Blaise making up a cosy foursome at dinner were something he wasn't ready to deal with yet. "Obviously Granger approves."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Harry likes _you_ , you idiot. Anyone with eyes can see that. All you have to do is stop arsing around and just _tell him_."

Draco reeled back almost as if he'd been slapped. "You don't know that," he practically whispered.

"Yes," Pansy said impatiently. "I do. Everyone does, Draco. Just open your eyes."

In reply, Draco simply thrust the items he was carrying into Pansy's hands. "I...um...have to go," he said lamely, before turning on his heel and striding from the shop.

~*~*~

"Hermione, this is a surprise." Harry stepped out from behind the till and gave his friend a brief hug. "To what do I owe the honour?"

"Silly," Hermione replied, smiling widely. "I just wanted to see if you were free to have lunch with me. We don't see nearly enough of each other nowadays."

Harry nodded his agreement. In fact, ever since Hermione had announced her engagement he'd been thinking over how little he currently saw of his best friends. He gave a quick glance at the clock. "I just need to owl Draco," he said, grabbing a nearby quill.

Hermione wanted to eat in one of the small cafe's that now littered Diagon Alley, and as Harry really had no preference, he agreed easily enough. They grabbed a small table for two, right by the window, and Harry couldn't help but smile as he noticed Draco walk by – no doubt on his way to _Lucia's_ for some Tortellini. Harry's tummy gave a rumble at the thought, and he looked up to find Hermione grinning back at him.

"Hungry?" she teased.

Harry flushed slightly. "I overslept and didn't have time for breakfast," he explained. "Draco kept me up late watching some pretentious film with subtitles."

"You two spend a lot of time together," Hermione commented. But before Harry had chance to reply, she continued. "I certainly didn't realise you had a standing lunch date."

Harry shrugged, trying his best not to get defensive. "It beats eating alone. Besides, we're friends, why not?"

"Hmm, I suppose," Hermione replied, not sounding terribly convinced. "Blaise seems nice, don't you think?"

The change of direction caught Harry off guard and he nearly choked on his sandwich. "What?"

"Well, you seemed to get on well together the other night," she observed, slowly stirring her tea.

"Yeah, he's okay, I suppose."

"Okay enough for you to want to date him?" 

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat and did his best to avoid Hermione's piercing gaze. "It's only dinner," he said finally. "And _he_ asked _me_. I couldn't refuse."

Hermione shook her head slowly. "Harry, what _are_ you doing?"

"Why?" Harry bristled slightly at the turn the conversation was taking. "Weren't you the one who invited me round for that cosy meal, just the four of us?"

Surprisingly, Hermione flushed at this. "That wasn't my idea." She paused and looked at Harry thoughtfully for a moment . "Do you like him?"

"He's not bad looking," Harry hedged.

"But that's not what I asked." Hermione raised her drink to her lips and sipped slowly, her eyes watching Harry intently over the rim.

"What do you want from me?" Harry demanded as quietly as he could. "One minute you and Ron are having a go at me for not getting out there, and now that I am, you're giving me the third degree. Maybe I just want to have a little fun with no strings attached – what's wrong with that?" He then sat back in his chair, arms folded defensively across his chest.

"There's nothing _wrong_ with that, Harry, except it's not you. What about Draco?"

Harry leant forward in surprise. "You think he still likes Blaise?"

Hermione shook her head. "Sometimes you can be so dense. What I meant was that _you_ like Draco."

"He doesn't like me, so it's irrelevant."

"You're sure about that, are you?"

"Positive." Harry's defensive body language was back, and it was clear from the expression on his face he wasn't happy with the conversation.

"Okay, let's drop the subject," Hermione conceded. "That wasn't what I asked you to lunch to discuss anyway." She paused long enough to take a bite of her teacake. "We're cancelling the engagement party."

Harry sat bolt upright at this piece of news. "You're calling the wedding off?" he asked worriedly.

"No, no, nothing like that," Hermione said hurriedly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you. It's just that we're bringing the wedding forward, so it seems a bit unnecessary to have an engagement party as well."

Harry heaved a sigh of relief; he'd been a little sceptical when Hermione first started dating Theo, but a person only had to see them together to know that they just _belonged_. "When's the big day, then?"

"Next month."

Harry choked on his drink. "I'm sorry, _when_?"

Hermione smiled at his reaction. "Next month." Then she leaned over the table slightly. "We just found out that I'm pregnant."

"You're kidding?" Harry reached across the table and grabbed both of her hands. "That's brilliant news."

"We think so," Hermione said smiling softly, and Harry couldn't remember a time when she'd looked more beautiful. 

"Blimey." Harry squeezed her hands tightly. "I can't believe it."

Hermione laughed. "You should see Theo. I still don't think he's recovered from the shock."

"Doesn't leave you long to organise the wedding," Harry said suddenly. "If you need any help with anything..."

"Funny you should mention that," Hermione said, and the twinkle in her eye made Harry a little uneasy. "I'd like you and Ron to be my bridesmaids."

Harry let her hands drop and he gaped in surprise. "Bridesmaids," he repeated. "Are you serious? I'd look terrible in a dress."

"I was thinking more along the lines of dress robes. My family will have a hard enough time with the whole _magic_ thing, without adding the sight of you two in dresses." 

"That's a relief. Although, I was rather looking forward to Ron's reaction. Maybe you could forget to mention the dress robes part to him?" Harry looked hopeful. "And wait till I'm there, of course."

"Something tells me you wouldn't have to be there to hear his reaction." Hermione glanced at her watch. "I'd better be getting back. I have a meeting with the Undersecretary this afternoon."

Harry hadn't realised how quickly the time had passed. He quickly drank the remainder of his coffee and then got to his feet. When they had exited the cafe he turned to his friend and found himself pulled into another hug.

"Take care," Hermione murmured, her face almost buried in his shoulder.

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you?" 

Hermione stepped back finally, a serious expression on her face. "Talk to Draco," she said.

Harry's smile faded, but found himself unwilling to spoil his friend's day. "I'll think about it," he said. And judging from the satisfied nod she gave, this was good enough.

~*~*~

"Can Twinkie be helping Master Draco with anything?"

Draco backed out of his wardrobe, still on all fours, and turned to face the wide-eyed house-elf. "No, thank you, Twinkie, I think I can manage."

Draco almost laughed out loud at the look of scepticism on his elf's face as she took in the chaos of his usually immaculate room. However, Malfoy elves were taught from an early age to hold their tongues, and this one was no exception. There was a loud crack and then Draco was alone again.

He sat back on his heels and surveyed the devastation he had wreaked in a rather short period of time. There were clothes strewn on every surface. His bed, were it not for the ornate headboard, was virtually indistinguishable; shoes were scattered on the polished floors; belts and ties hung from every available door handle. 

He shook his head, a wry smile quirking his lips. He was supposed to be dropping round to see Harry casually, a spur of the moment decision – the last three outfits had practically screamed _marry me_.

A gentle tap at the door distracted him, and Draco got to his feet just as his mother entered the room.

"Draco, darling," she greeted warmly.

It was a sign of how much his parents had changed recently that she didn't even bat an eyelid at the mess.

"Mother." Draco crossed the room, carefully avoiding self-made obstacles, and kissed her cheek.

"You _are_ going out tonight, aren't you?" she asked, trying, Draco thought, to sound rather casual.

Draco nodded. "Yes, just round to Harry's."

"That's nice, dear. You'll be out all night, will you?"

_I bloody hope so_ , Draco thought to himself, but all he said out loud was "Maybe. I do have a standing invitation if needs be."

"Wonderful. Your father and I are expecting some friends around later. It's so much nicer when we adults can be...silly in private."

It took only a few seconds for Draco to work out the implications behind his mother's words, and even less time for him to vow that nothing on earth would persuade him to set foot back inside the Manor before sunrise.

~*~*~

Draco Apparated to his destination, landing on the bottom steps of Grimmauld Place, just inside the wards. It felt strange to be knocking on Harry's door, but somehow he hadn't felt right just Flooing in unexpectedly this time.

Not that he thought Harry would mind – especially not with the bottle of wine and Chinese takeaway he came bearing, but considering his hopes for the evening ahead, Draco felt a slightly more formal approach was called for.

The outsized door knocker rattled ominously, and Draco tried his best to remain calm. All of his efforts went out of the window when the door opened to reveal Blaise.

"Draco!" It seemed the surprise was mutual.

"Blaise," Draco replied, as evenly as he could manage with his heart in his throat.

"Who is it, Blaise?"

Something in the casual way Harry said his name made both Draco's hands and his heart clench tightly. Blaise turned back into the house. "It's just Draco," he shouted in reply.

"Draco?" There was a pause, then the sound of heavy footsteps thundering down the stairs.

"We're just about to head out," Blaise explained. "I'd invite you to join us, but you know how it is."

Unfortunately, Draco knew exactly how it was, especially where Blaise was concerned. Before Draco had time to cast the Impotence Hex he planned on, Harry appeared in the doorway, breathless, bright eyed, and wearing an outfit that would keep Draco in fantasies for weeks. 

"Draco, I didn't realise you were coming around, or I'd have—"

"It's fine," Draco replied; the lie tasted like ash in his mouth. "It was just a spur of the moment decision."

"Are you sure?" Harry looked down at the bags in Draco's hands. "But you brought takeaway," he observed ruefully, before turning to Blaise. "Maybe we could eat in?" he suggested. "It would be a shame to waste the food."

"No, it's fine," Draco said quickly, feeling more mortified as the moment lasted. "You two don't have to change your plans."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked again; he looked torn and chewed his bottom lip.

Draco forced a smile onto his face. "Of course. It means more spare ribs for me, and you know how much I love them." What Draco didn't add was that the reason he loved them was he loved watching the way Harry would suck his fingers clean afterwards.

"We'd better get going," Blaise announced, re-waking Draco to his presence.

"Of course." Draco nodded. "I'll see you soon. And Harry, I'll see you for lunch on Monday as usual."

Harry smiled weakly. "Of course," he replied, then added, "I'll just grab my wallet."

Unable to bear the discomfort any longer, Draco nodded and then turned to leave. He'd got barely three feet away before the sound of his name stopped him in his tracks. He turned slowly to find Blaise still in the doorway watching him with something indefinable in his eyes.

"I'm not...Am I treading on toes here?" Blaise asked, sounding almost concerned.

It was more than Draco could bear. He scoffed as convincingly as he could manage considering the bile rising in his throat. "Whatever gave you that ridiculous idea?"

~*~*~

"Are you sure that's what he said? It doesn't really sound like Potter." Pansy emerged from the bathroom tying a silk robe securely around her.

Draco winced. "Must you be so loud?" he complained weakly. Then his eyes widened slightly. "Is Weasley still here?"

Pansy curled up on the sofa next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. "No. He left earlier – big day ahead."

Draco turned his head and gazed down at her. "Big day?" he asked, and massaged his temples with the fingers of his free hand.

Pansy nodded. "Family dinner. But never mind that," she burrowed further into his side, "tell me more about what Blaise said."

Draco shrugged. Part of him wanted to tell Pansy to mind her own business, but she _was_ his best friend, and he _had_ come over to her flat intent on baring his soul anyway. "That was pretty much it. Just went on about what a wonderful time they'd had, how amazing Harry was, and how he couldn't wait to see him again." Draco paused here and took a deep breath. "He sounded like he might actually be serious."

Pansy snorted derisively. "This _is_ still Blaise we're talking about, is it?"

"You didn't hear him. The way he was talking was like Harry was the man of his dreams."

Pansy shifted her position and sat back so she could look straight at Draco. "Why do you care though? They're both consenting adults. If Potter wants to bang Blaise, what's it to you?"

"Don't be so crude, or obtuse. You know damn well why."

Pansy reached out and pulled the edges of her robe closed over the flash of thigh she was showing. "I'm not sure if I follow you," she said innocently, though a blind man could have read the mischief in her eyes. "You're always telling me how you and Potter are just friends. Does that mean you've been carrying a torch for Blaise all these years?"

In reply, Pansy got a cushion in the face. "Fuck off," Draco replied, as good-naturedly as he could manage considering the stinking hangover he had. 

Pansy ruffled his hair affectionately. "Poor baby. You have got it bad."

Draco flopped down, his head now cradled by Pansy's thighs. "I don't want to talk about it." He closed his eyes and allowed the touch of Pansy's hand on his hair to lull him into a more relaxed state. However, it didn't help remove the rather horrific images of Blaise and Harry that had been tormenting him ever since breakfast.

"He was probably just bragging for Theo's benefit," Pansy said, and Draco smiled weakly.

"If it was anyone else, maybe. But when have you ever known Blaise not get his hands on what he wants?"

"Then tell him," Pansy suggested. "Blaise is a lot of things, but he's a reasonable bloke. I'm sure if you explained to him—"

Draco's hand reached up and grabbed her wrists. "No. And don't _you_ even think about it either."

~*~*~

Harry crouched down and began counting his way through yet another shelf full of WWW's products. It was already lunch time and he wasn't even halfway through the stock take – no wonder George had been so keen for him to take on the task.

His stomach rumbled ominously. But as he'd planned to lunch with Draco as usual, Harry had declined Kreacher's daily offer of a packed lunch.

"Alright, mate?"

Harry looked up in surprise at the interruption and then swore silently as he realised he'd lost count.

"Nice to see you, too," his visitor replied in amusement.

"Sorry." Harry smiled wryly at Ron. "Nothing personal."

"I should think not." Ron crouched down at his side. "Want a hand?"

Harry frowned in surprise. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Nah, day off." Ron pulled a face. "I drew the short straw for working this weekend."

"Well, in that case," Harry slapped the clipboard against Ron's chest, "I'll count, you write."

Harry had just begun counting again when the store room door opened with a loud creak. "Sorry to disturb you."

Harry clenched his teeth and turned around. He was surprised to find the young girl who worked behind the counter in _Lucia's_ hovering nervously in the doorway. Before he had chance to wonder or to ask what she was doing there, she stepped further into the room and handed him a large paper bag.

"Lucia asked me to drop this off for you."

Harry took the bag in mute surprise; he knew he was a fairly regular customer, but it was a little odd that the owner was sending him free food.

"Special request from Mr Malfoy." The girl -- Emily, Harry's brain supplied suddenly -- blushed a little at this and then promptly disappeared before he could reply.

"Smells nice," Ron commented casually, but Harry could tell it was killing him not to say more. 

Harry murmured his agreement but was finding it a little hard to think. He checked the Warming Charm was still active and then set the bag to one side.

"Aren't you hungry?" 

Harry smiled at the hopeful note in his friend's voice. "I am, but I just want to finish this shelf first. So don't even _think_ about it."

"Wouldn't dream of it, mate," Ron replied good-naturedly. "I'm not risking the wrath of _Mr Malfoy_."

"Draco?" Harry asked, a tiny frown creasing his brow.

"Well, unless you have Lucius Malfoy sending you Panini's for lunch, then yes, Draco. Although," Ron gave a sly smile, "I'd have thought it would be Zabini sending you stuff, now he's your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend, Ron," Harry replied, just a hint of irritation colouring his tone. 

"Really?" Ron quirked an eyebrow in question. "Because that's not what he's been saying. Not according to Pansy, anyway."

Harry shrugged. "She probably just got the wrong end of the stick. We went out a couple of times. He's a nice bloke, but he's not..."

"You might want to think about telling Malfoy that."

Harry really frowned now. "Why would Draco care?" He paused for a moment. "Unless...does he still like Blaise? Did Pansy tell you that?"

Ron snorted disbelievingly. "Could you be any more dense if you tried?"

Harry just stared in confusion.

Ron shook his head. "It isn't Zabini that he's interested in."

"Then who—"

"Think about it," Ron interrupted. "He's always round your house. He stays there most weekends. And he's always sending you stupid little presents."

"They're not stupid," Harry bit defensively. "They're...thoughtful."

"Exactly." Ron grinned smugly. "You eat lunch with him every day, and when you can't, he does this." Ron gestured to the nearby bag of food. "And people say _I'm_ oblivious."

"I don't think—"

"That much is obvious," Ron said, cutting Harry off again. "And you're as bad in return. It's obvious to everyone, apart from you two, that this thing with the portrait is more about Malfoy than it is Snape."

Harry didn't reply for a moment. Lost in thought, he just fiddled aimlessly with the box in his hands. "I should really get on with this count," he said finally.

Ron gazed at him thoughtfully and then got to his feet. "I think I'll leave you to get on with it. I was never very good with numbers."

Harry nodded absently. "Okay." But he didn't look at Ron at all, he was too busy staring at the gently steaming bag by his side.

~*~*~

Harry was still lost in a world of his own when he finally made it home from work that night. He'd been deep in thought most of the afternoon – since Ron's departure, if truth be told – and Harry wasn't at all confident of the accuracy of his stock take.

But right then he just didn't care. Ron's words had set his mind working overtime, and Harry was busy reanalysing his every interaction with Draco over the last few months. He wasn't completely clueless, despite what Ron thought. Harry was more than self-aware enough to understand his own feelings for Draco had long since passed the friendship stage. But the idea of reciprocation was definitely new. Draco had never given any indication that he wanted more – had he?

Unable to stand the uncertainty any longer, Harry decided there was only one thing to be done. However, instead of talking to Draco like he knew he should, Harry went upstairs, changed into his comfiest pyjamas, and then came back downstairs with fleecy throw in hand.

Heading to the kitchen to coax Kreacher into making his _signature_ hot chocolate drink – the secret of which he absolutely refused to share – Harry was immediately accosted by his sour-faced houseguest.

"No Mr Zabini this evening?"

"What?" Harry was startled and his voice came out a little louder than usual.

"I just thought you and he were rather _friendly_ of late."

Harry didn't miss the insinuation in Snape's tone. "I've seen him three times in six years; we're hardly best friends."

"No need to be defensive, Potter. I'm just making conversation."

Harry stifled a sigh and rubbed tiredly at his face. His own thoughts hadn't given him a moment's peace all day, and now he couldn't even go to his own kitchen without being questioned about his personal life.

"You know, I was thinking," he said slowly, and ignored the sarcastic snort that followed. "Maybe you'd prefer it if I moved you up into the library? Phineas Nigellus is already up there, so you'd have some company."

"Nice try, Potter." Snape crossed his arms and smirked. "I'm quite happy down here where I can keep an eye on your comings and goings."

"But I—"

"Try and move me and I'm telling Draco."

This stopped Harry in his tracks. "Tell Draco?" he repeated. "What are you, five?"

"Says the man wearing teddy bear pyjamas," Snape retorted. "Now let's hear no more of this _moving_ nonsense.

~*~*~

"Are you sure this is okay?" Draco stepped out of the Floo, clutching a small trunk.

Harry got out of the armchair he was curled up in. "I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind." He stepped forward and took the trunk from Draco's arms. "Of course it's okay. I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't."

"It bloody better be," Theo groused as he emerged from the fireplace clutching several unwieldy packages. "Or you're moving this stuff back on your own."

"Stop complaining." Draco flopped onto the sofa with a brief smile at Hermione who was already seated there. "One thing you had to carry. Anyone would think I'd asked you to give Hagrid a piggyback ride."

" _Three_ things, actually," Theo replied, dumping said items on a nearby table. "And awkward things at that." He sat down next to Hermione who patted his arm sympathetically.

"Is this everything?" Harry looked around, clearly surprised by Draco's lack of belongings.

Theo began laughing merrily at this, causing Draco to look more than a little put out. However, before Harry could enquire as to the source of this amusement, the explanation became self-evident. The flames sparked into life once more and emitted numerous house-elves -- Malfoy ones, judging from the crest on their tea towels -- each of them carrying boxes seemingly far too large for their small stature. 

Hermione huffed loudly in disapproval, but Draco chose not to respond; he was too busy marshalling his troop of helpers. 

When the last elf had left the room, and only the sound of their small feet pattering on the stairs could be heard, Draco gazed after them wistfully. "Can we keep one?" he asked plaintively of Harry. "That elf of yours is too old to be up to much, and I'm sure mother wouldn't mind."

Harry grinned and reached out to ruffle Draco's hair. "I don't need another elf," he replied evenly. "Why d'you think I asked _you_ to move in."

"I hope that's meant to be a joke, for your sake, Potter." Draco folded his arms across his chest and mock-glared at Harry.

"So do I," Theo commented. "You do realise you've invited a slob into your house, don't you?" Ignoring Draco's protests, he continued addressing Harry. "You might actually want to rethink keeping one of those elves."

"Harry doesn't want an elf, do you?" Hermione asked, sharply elbowing her fiancé at the same time.

"Nah," Harry agreed easily. "I've already got my hands full with a ferret." 

Draco was off the sofa in an instant, wand in hand. "Potter, what have I told you about using that F word?"

Harry laughed and moved behind the sofa for protection. "I'm only kidding, Draco, you know that."

Draco huffed. "Some jokes just aren't funny. I'd sleep with one eye open tonight, if I were you."

Harry grinned and Draco tried his hardest not to notice the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners. "How about I rustle up some lunch for us – will you forgive me then?"

"Goat's cheese omelette?" Draco asked despite himself.

Harry smiled indulgently. "Well, I had been thinking more along the lines of cheese sandwich, but if that's what you want—"

"It is." Draco nodded firmly; he knew from past gourmet experiences that Harry was a mean cook, and he planned to take advantage of this fact at every opportunity.

Harry shook his head and smiled again. "One omelette coming right up." He paused and turned to the others. "D'you two want lunch as well? I've got plenty of food in."

Theo certainly looked hopeful, but Hermione soon put the kibosh on that idea. "Thanks for the offer, but we have a meeting with the wedding planner this afternoon, so we'd better head off shortly."

Harry stepped forward and gave her a hug. "No doubt I'll see you soon."

Hermione returned the hug and then gave him a stern look. "You'll see me on Tuesday," she said. "You and Ron."

Draco chuckled softly. "Don't you remember, Harry? You have a bridesmaid dress fitting."

"Oh, shut up, you," Harry replied. "Or I'll burn your omelette."

Draco pouted but wisely remained silent. Once Harry left the room, he turned to bid farewell to their visitors also, only to find Hermione watching him speculatively. 

"Do you think you'll like living here, Draco?" she asked casually, but Draco could tell there was clearly more that she wanted to say.

"I don’t see why not," he replied, with quick glance at Theo who shrugged helplessly.

"Well, you and Harry haven't always been the best of friends, have you?"

Draco snorted. "That's a bit of an understatement, isn't it?" He shook his head. "And they call you the smart one. "

"I'd just hate to see either of you get hurt."

The stare Hermione gave him was piercing, and Draco felt as if she were peeling away the layers of his emotions in an attempt to lay the truth bare.

"I have no intention of hurting Harry," he replied stiffly.

"Of that I have no doubt," Hermione replied softly, a slight smile on her lips. "But intentions aren't always necessary."

Draco bristled. "I fail to see—"

"And that's the problem," Hermione interrupted, and gave a shake of her head. "I don't think either of you see. Not properly."

"We'll be fine." Draco gave a curt nod to match his tone and then headed from the room; he was relieved to hear the Floo roar to life behind him.

As he entered the hallway, Draco could feel himself being watched. Turning around he found not one, but two pairs of beady eyes watching his every move. Snape, he was used to; his ex-professor's presence was more of a draw for Draco than a bad thing. But the amber eyes also watching him were new.

Harry's owl – Hedwig, Draco recalled – was perched on the end of the banister, eyeing him suspiciously. Draco'd never had much to do with the owl in the past, beyond retrieving the odd letter. But as they were going to be living in the same house, he felt some kind of effort was necessary. 

Malfoy owls had always been viewed more as servants, and Draco had certainly never considered his eagle owl to be a pet. So it was with some trepidation that he reached out, intent on stroking the snowy owl's head.

"You are beautiful, aren't you?" he murmured, partly from truth, and partly from a desire to soothe the creature.

Draco had barely made contact with the soft feathers when Hedwig took flight. Her magnificent wings beating frantically, she hovered over Draco, screeching loudly, her talons spread as if in threat. Draco's first reaction was to reach for his wand, especially when he felt a sharp claw graze his scalp. But he knew just how fond Harry was of his pet, and Draco couldn't quite bring himself to harm the animal.

"Bloody vicious beast," he muttered, waving his arms around in an effort to shoo her away. A small voice in the back of his mind suggested he could just run, head back into the living room and slam the door shut. But his pride would not allow it.

Hedwig swooped in for another attack and Draco felt several strands of his hair pulled out from the root. This proved to be the final straw.

"Right, that's it," he snapped. Casting his eyes around for a means of defence, Draco spotted the hideous troll's foot umbrella stand. He'd never understood Harry's insistence on keeping the bloody thing, but right now he was just grateful that he had.

Grabbing the first umbrella that came to hand, Draco opened it with a flourish and quickly raised it over his head. "There, you evil creature," he declared triumphantly, as Hedwig's beat futilely against its surface. Balked of her prey, she set to screeching in a most alarming manner.

The noise was sufficient to draw Harry's attention. He appeared in the hallway, wiping dirty hands down his apron. Hedwig instantly settled on his shoulder, affectionately nipping his ear. Harry grinned at Draco.

"That's bad luck, you know." He nodded at the umbrella.

"So is having my eyes gouged out," Draco spluttered indignantly.

Harry reached up and stroked Hedwig lightly. "Sorry about that. She gets a bit...territorial of me sometimes. She gave Blaise a right good nip." Harry turned to head back into the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to add, "I've never seen her react quite _that_ possessively before though."

Before Draco had time to process this, Harry was gone.

~*~*~

"Will you keep still?" Draco gripped Harry's shoulder tightly. "I can't tie this damned thing if you keep wriggling like that."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, I've just never felt comfortable in these sorts of clothes." He tugged at the collar of his shirt with one finger. "They make me feel a bit claustrophobic."

Draco lightly slapped Harry's hand away and returned his attention to the claret-coloured cravat. "However much you hate wearing dress robes, I can assure you that it's the preferable option to turning up at Granger's wedding looking less than perfect." Draco's hands stilled and he took a step back to admire his handiwork. "I'm under strict instructions where you're concerned, and I do _not_ intend to incur the wrath of the bride-to-be."

Harry pouted slightly as Draco walked in a slow circle, inspecting him from all angles. "I'm quite capable of dressing myself."

"Of course you are," Draco murmured distractedly. He brushed his hands down the back of Harry's robes, straightening the fabric. It took all of his self-control not to press firmly and smooth his palms over broad shoulders and toned back.

"You're wasting your time, Draco. He's a lost cause."

Harry ignored the portrait, turning instead to his friend. "Are you sure we can't stick him up in the library."

Draco grinned and shook his head. "We've already talked about this; he likes it down here. You just have to learn to ignore him."

Harry scrunched his nose up in displeasure. "Am I done yet?" he asked, a hint of a whine in his tone.

"Almost." Draco produced the buttonhole with a flourish and deftly pinned it to Harry's robes. "There," he said in satisfaction. "Now you're done."

Harry turned his head sideways and checked his reflection in the mirror. A broad smile crossed his face and he stepped forward, arms outstretched slightly. "You're a genius," he said, and the genuine warmth in his tone caused a small lump in Draco's throat.

Draco stepped back slightly, not ready to deal with the consequences of such close, physical contact at that point. But he didn't miss the brief flicker of confusion that crossed Harry's face.

"You're only just realising that now? Idiot Gryffindor." Draco shook his head in mock pity. "Now get going; Granger will have my hide if you're late today."

Harry grinned again and turned to walk into the living room. He stopped in the doorway and turned, an almost uncertain look on his face. "I'll see you later, right?"

Draco nodded. "Of course. I'll save a spot on my dance card for you."

One more heart stopping smile and Harry was gone. Draco slumped back against the wall and let his head bang against its hard surface. "Fuck!"

"Don't you two make an attractive couple?"

Draco cracked one eye open and treated his old professor to a patented Malfoy glare. "Don't start, Severus."

"It was simply an observation," Snape replied stiffly. "I didn't realise your relationship was such a sensitive topic."

Draco was fully alert now. He pushed off the wall and stalked closer. "There _is_ no relationship."

Snape scowled. "Tell me to mind my own business if you wish, but do not insult my intelligence with lies. A blind man could see how things are between you and Potter."

"There is no me and Harry," Draco insisted, his chest tightening considerable. "If anything, it's _Blaise_ and Harry."

A loud, derisive snort filled the hallway. "Zabini?" Snape demanded incredulously. "You think he and Potter are...?" Snape tailed off, clearly not willing to put such a thought into words.

"I don't think," Draco snapped, more than a little irritated with the conversation. He was doing his best not to think about Blaise and Harry, or about the prospect of seeing them in each other’s arms on the dance floor later that night. "I know."

"You know nothing." Snape folded his arms firmly across his chest and glared out of his frame. "Much as it pains me to assist you in your pursuit of that blasted boy, there is nothing between the two of them."

Draco's eyes widened and a feeling he didn't dare acknowledge rushed through him. "You mean..."

"Don't make me repeat myself. This is hardly a topic I relish discussing." 

"Severus, please."

"There were a couple of attempts to initiate intimacy on Mr Zabini's part, all of which were rebuffed by Potter. Nothing happened between them."

~*~*~

Harry stood on the edge of the dance floor, glass of champagne in hand. It had been a wonderful day so far – the service, poignant; the meal, a culinary delight; Hermione, well, Harry had barely recognised his friend, such was the transformation that had taken place. She literally glowed.

Despite this, he'd only had eyes for Draco the entire day. It wasn't just the way that Draco's new dress robes emphasised his lean frame, or the obvious care taken with his appearance – it was something else, something Harry couldn't quite put a name to. It was in Draco's eyes, in his every laugh and smile, and despite being unable to identify it, Harry felt himself responding in kind.

Harry noticed Blaise smiling at him, and nodded politely in return. The few evenings they had spent together had been pleasant enough, but Harry had been endlessly grateful when Blaise seemed to give up his pursuit – the last thing he wanted was for Draco to get the wrong idea. Harry was relieved that Blaise has seemed determined to stay out of his way during the wedding – he only wished that Pansy had adopted a similar attitude. The meaningful looks and glares she had been shooting him all day were confusing at best, and downright bloody annoying at worst.

Feeling a pair of eyes watching him intently at that very moment, Harry turned and made his way back towards the bar. As he crossed the room, Harry couldn't stop thinking about Draco. His plan all along had been to ask his friend to dance, to lead him around the dance floor and see if he couldn't find something in Draco's eyes, something that would tell him if he was wasting his time or not. But after three weeks spent living in such close contact, of seeing Draco every day, sometimes in various stages of undress, Harry wasn't sure he could be that close to Draco without exploding. 

He waited a few moments at the bar to be served, and was just about to place his order when a sharp dig to his ribs had him yelping in pain. He turned around ready to give short shrift to his assailant, only to be confronted by the piercing gaze of Pansy Parkinson.

"Potter," she said shortly.

"Pansy." Harry nodded, giving the tender spot on his ribs a quick rub. "I have no idea where Ron is, if that's what you want."

Pansy snorted. "Please, there's a buffet table in the room – I know exactly where Weasley is."

Despite himself, Harry couldn't help grin at this. "Then what can I do for you?"

In reply, Pansy simply nodded in the direction of the dance floor. Harry's heart climbed partway into his mouth at the sight of Draco in Blaise's arms. 

"They're just friends," Harry said, and he knew he was saying it more for his own benefit than anyone else's.

"Maybe," Pansy agreed. "But Draco's lonely, and horny, and..." She gave a small shrug.

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry tried his best to keep his voice even but suspected he wasn't entirely successful.

"Because, Potter," Pansy began, annoyance clear in her tone, "you and Draco have it bad for each other. I know it, all your friends know it, Merlin, even Ron managed to figure it out all by himself. But for some reason you two seem intent on driving us all crazy with this dance of denial you insist on doing. Now get on that dance floor and tell him – before I do something that _you'll_ live to regret."

Harry gaped for a moment. "B-But—"

"Go!" Neither Pansy's expression nor her tone brooked any argument, and despite having faced down Voldemort numerous times, Harry couldn't help thinking this was one person he really didn't want to piss off. Plus, considering that what she was telling him, making him do, was exactly what he'd wanted to do for months, well, it didn't seem so bad.

The walk to the dance floor seemed endless; feet seemed like miles. And yet, despite that, Harry arrived at his destination far too quickly for his liking. His instincts were screaming at him to run, to head back to the bar and get extremely drunk, but one look in that direction showed Pansy was watching him with a terrifying glint in her eyes, so Harry coughed instead.

"Sorry to interrupt—"

"Harry!" Draco pulled back from his partner, a look of visible apprehension on his face. "Are you okay?"

Harry cleared his throat nervously and nodded. "I'm fine. I just...I wanted to cut in." 

"Oh." Harry didn't miss the way Draco's face fell at his words, and when his friend stepped back as if to leave, Harry reached out and grabbed hold of his arm firmly. "I..." He took a deep breath. "I meant you," he said determinedly. "You promised to save me a dance."

Blaise gave a gracious half-bow and stepped back, murmuring something about 'kismet'. But his words went unheard, his presence unmissed.

Harry had thought Hermione was glowing before, but it was nothing compared to the expression on Draco's face as they locked gazes. Suddenly the short space between them seemed like a yawning chasm; Harry could bear it no longer. Heedless of their audience – and Harry suspected it would come as less of a shock to their friends than it should – he stepped closer.

Draco's hands were on his waist in an instant, the grip tight as though he feared Harry might change his mind. "I thought for a minute that you..." He tailed off into a shaky laugh.

"Never," Harry replied, and then gave into temptation. He cupped one hand around Draco's neck, his fingers toying with the soft wisps of hair at the nape. Harry's other hand smoothed slowly up and down Draco's arm. "Blaise was only ever a friend."

Draco relaxed visibly at these words and melted further into the embrace, standing so close that barely a breath separated them. They stayed like that for what seemed like the longest time, eyes locked in an intense gaze that both seemed loathe to break. 

As they swayed slightly from side to side, a token nod to the music they were no longer aware of, Harry found he had to remind himself to breathe. He fumbled around in his brain, desperate for the right words, for the ability to make Draco understand how he felt – but coherency seemed to have deserted him.

"Draco, I..." The words stuck in his throat.

Draco smiled ever so slightly, and Harry's insides flipped like a pancake. "It's okay," he murmured, and then leaned in so close that his nose brushed against Harry's cheek. "I know."

Harry couldn't help it – he pulled back in surprise. "You do?"

Draco gave a rueful shrug. "Well, Pansy's been trying to beat it into my head for months." He paused here and his eyes flickered to the side briefly. "And from the look of them, I'd say your friends have been doing the same.

Harry nodded reluctantly at the same time as he followed Draco's gaze. He blanched slightly at the number of onlookers they had garnered and prayed silently that Hermione wouldn't kill him for scene-stealing on her big day.

But then Harry saw what Draco saw and the knot in his chest vanished completely. First there was Hermione, resplendent in her bridal gown, and she just beamed – clearly as happy for them as she was for her own nuptials. Theo merely raised an eyebrow at them speculatively and then gave a brief nod. Restrained thought it may have seemed to most, from reticent Theo this was as close to a ringing endorsement as Harry knew they were likely to get. 

Pansy gazed at him critically for a moment from her perch on Ron's lap. She obviously found whatever it was she was looking for, because suddenly her burst into a broad smile, and for the first time Harry understood what Ron saw in her. 

He turned his attention then, somewhat reluctantly, to his best friend. Harry had always worried that if, _when_ the time came, the barrier of Draco's surname would just be too much for Ron to surmount. But Harry had underestimated his friend again. Yes, Ron looked uncomfortable, and was obviously trying to hide his face in Pansy's hair, but for a split second their eyes met and that told Harry all he needed to know.

It was Ron's patented _I don't care if you're gay, or who you're with, but you're my best mate and I don't need to see you with your tongue down someone's throat_ look. It was remarkably similar to the one Harry wore whenever he came within ten feet of Ron and Pansy.

They all looked a little too calm, too accepting, and in a fit of irrational pique, Harry found himself irritated by the _lack_ of response. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy wrapped around each other on the dance floor _should_ be big news. True, they weren't quite the arch-nemesis's they once were, but still... Was it too much to expect the odd expression of shock or outrage?

Harry gave a vague huff of annoyance and turned his attention back to Draco, who was watching him with an expression of almost fond exasperation.

"Do I even want to know what's going through your head right now?"

Harry gave a sheepish grin. "Probably not," he admitted, and then promptly began steering Draco to the edge of the dance floor.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, his eyes fixed on Harry's face.

Harry leaned in and pressed a quick, hard kiss to Draco's lips. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this?"

"Some," Draco replied. "And you're not the only one." This last was little more than a whisper.

Harry grinned and kissed him again. "Then you'll understand why I have no intention of waiting any longer."

Harry had barely got the words out of his mouth before Draco grabbed hold of his robes and dragged him through the nearby French doors. Once outside, Draco's wand was in his hand, and at the same time as he leaned in to kiss Harry, he turned them around slowly.

~*~*~

The press of Apparition usually took Draco's breath away, but this time it was the presence of Harry's tongue plundering his mouth that did the trick.

They appeared in the hallway of Grimmauld Place with a loud crack, but not even the shaky landing could distract them from the task at hand. Their lips practically devouring each other, while eager fingers tugged at clothing that impeded their path.

Draco pulled back breathlessly, his eyes almost gleaming in the darkness of the hall. "Bedroom," he gasped, and that was all he had time to say before Harry pulled him back in.

Not that Draco minded. He'd lost track of the number of years he'd waited for Harry to manhandle him in this fashion. Harry had certainly grown up nicely during that time, and the feel of those strong arms wrapped around him so possessively made Draco's knees weaken in a way that not even wild Thestrals could drag out of him.

He tangled his fingers in Harry's hair, destroying all his earlier hard work without a second thought. Their bodies were moulded as closely as it was possible to be, but that didn't stop Draco from trying to pull Harry even closer. Their noses bumped, teeth clacked, and Draco could feel the cold press of Harry's glasses against his cheek. It was so wonderfully imperfect, so _them_ , and Draco thought he wouldn't change it for all the hearts and flowers in the world. No more idle daydreams or furtive wanks that left him empty inside – this was _real_.

Harry's hands were busy making short work of Draco's robes, finally leaving them pooled around his feet. It was a sign of Draco's state of mind that he simply kicked the expensive fabric to one side, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor.

"Bedroom," he said again, and then stifled a moan as Harry slid warm hands under his shirt and blunt fingernails trailed over his skin.

"Too far," Harry muttered in reply, his words somewhat muffled as he turned his attentions to Draco's neck.

Then Harry's tongue found that spot, the one just behind Draco's left ear that turned him into the horniest of Hufflepuffs, and Draco's patience came to a crashing halt. 

Without warning, Draco pushed Harry firmly against the wall, and swallowed the _oof_ of surprise that escaped his mouth. Then Draco's hands worked their way insistently under Harry's robes and deftly undid his trousers. Sliding his hands inside, he couldn't hold back a groan at the feel of Harry's skin, hot and smooth against his palms.

Underwear swiftly followed trousers, and it was all Draco could do not to come right then as his hands roamed over the curves of Harry's arse. "Fuck," he groaned, and struggled to rein in his self-control.

Harry gave a throaty chuckle. "I certainly hope so, but for now..."

Quick as a flash, Harry reversed their positions. And despite the shock, Draco couldn't help but think he moved with an impressive speed for someone whose trousers were around their ankles. 

The panelled wall was rough and cold against his back – the thin dress shirt afforded little in the way of protection. But then Harry began undoing his trousers and it took all of Draco's concentration to remember to breathe.

Draco's head thudded against the wall but he barely noticed it because Harry's hand was on his cock, on both of their cocks, pressing them closely together, and the tentative, awkward strokes were better than even the most exotic of his fantasises.

"Please." Draco's voice was hoarse, and his hips bucked off the wall, pushing firmly into Harry's grip. "I need—" 

His words were once again cut off by Harry's lips. Unable to vocalise his needs, Draco decided on a more direct approach. While one hand gripped onto Harry's shoulder, so tightly that Draco was sure there would be bruises come the morning, his other hand snaked down between their bodies. Placing his hand over Harry's and locking their fingers together as best he could, Draco began to direct the speed of the strokes.

It was Harry's turn to groan now, low and guttural. Draco felt it vibrate through his mouth and couldn't help the moment of smug satisfaction he felt at being the one to wring such noises from him.

It was fast and amazing and everything Draco had ever dared to hope it would be. Harry was so responsive, so amazing, so _his_. And in the brief moment of lucid thought he managed amongst the delirium of pleasure, Draco swore to himself that he would do whatever it took to keep him. It had been hard enough these last few years, being so close to Harry and yet _not_ at the same time. But now that he knew what it felt like, the taste of Harry's lips, the feel of his hands, the hot press of his body...Draco knew he couldn't be without it again. There was just no way.

So he held on tighter with one hand and speeded up their strokes with the other, and tried to pour every ounce of emotion he felt into their needy kisses.

"Draco!" Harry pulled back suddenly, his voice sounding almost broken. He tensed briefly and his movements faltered, then Draco felt the hot splashes against his skin.

It was all too much. Draco's head tipped forward, face now buried in the crook of Harry's neck, his breaths came in short, shallow pants. He gave a few final strokes, each more forceful than the last, and with a muffled shout felt his own release overwhelm him.

They slumped to the floor in a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and discarded clothing. Draco found himself somewhat cradled in Harry's lap. "Well," he said shakily, before the silence could become awkward, "that was new."

Harry laughed breathlessly and raised one hand to push the damp strands of hair back from Draco's face. But before he could reply, there was a soft rustling noise followed by a pointed cough.

"I've been thinking, Potter." Draco could hear the embarrassment in Snape's voice. "Maybe a quiet spot in your library would be amenable after all."

The End


End file.
